A Promise to a Bachelor
by Fantom Of The Fiction
Summary: A telling of what happened when Sherlock and John were in the jail cell after the Stag Night. Slight spoilers for The Sign of Three. Part one of the "The Person That You Click With" series.


_A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. I'd love to know what you think._

Pain… Lots and lots of pain. Light, bright light. Dry. Mouth is dry. Thing… place… sound? Dubstep. R…Rhianna… Madonna. Sherlock? Ghost… Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes? Hah… Scarf isn't right, Sherlock! Drunk… Beakers… Loud… Everything is so loud, Sherlock turn it down, I'm trying to sleep. Sherlock… Sherlock? Sherlock is… A pretty lady. Sherlock is clueing for looks and we don't have a King.

John's memories of the previous night slowly crept into the forefront of his mind as he groggily came to consciousness. The stag party. He groaned, which was a mistake, his burning throat telling him not to do it again anytime soon.

He was immediately aware of the bright light that was just beyond his closed eyelids and the searing pain in his head, neck, and lower back. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will it away. He fell back into a semi-sleeping state, thinking over the night's events, his eyes opening a bit every few minutes. Eventually he realized that he might not fall asleep again anytime soon.

He lifted his head, rubbing his neck. He had fallen asleep right by Sherlock, who was surprisingly asleep on a cot in a… Jail cell? Why were they in a—

Oh.

_Oh._

Right.

The landlord had threatened to call the police when they were at the ghost man's flat last night. Tessa and John had managed to convince him not to, until Sherlock vomited on the rug. Brilliant.

So here they were.

John got his bearings about him. He looked around. Why did they have to be out in a white cell? Don't the police know that it's irritating? He'll have to have a talk with someone about that.

He moved to stretch his arms a bit, but found one of his hands in a position that he decided that he would rather keep it in. In his hand rested one of Sherlock's, and despite the fact that he was asleep, his grip was firm and true.

John looked at their hands. They weren't fully wrapped around each other – they had obviously come a bit undone while they slept. Still, John's fingers rested in Sherlock's upturned palm, with Sherlock's fingers clasped around John's. John stared. He wasn't sure for how long, he just knew he did. Then he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock was sleeping peacefully on his right side, face just a few inches from John's. His breath smelled foul and it churned John's stomach, but he forced the feeling away. He rested his cheek on the cool metal of the structure of the cot, watching Sherlock sleep. He wished he could sleep. Sleep was nice. He had a nice bed back at home in 221B. No, that's not home. Home is with Mary. That's a nice bed. He has a nice bed back at 221B, too. Maybe he'll have two homes from now on. Yes, he liked that idea.

Mary.

Oh, right. Mary.

They were getting married in a few days. He was getting married in a few days. To Mary Morstan. Hah, Marrying Mary Morstan. Lots of Ms. Many Ms. What other things begin with M? Mmm… Mrs. Hudders begins with M. So does Molly and Mycroft. M is the… seven eight nin M… Twelv… Thirteenth number in the… Color in the alphabet. Place. No, number. No, note. Letter! Thirteenth col… nu… Letter in the alphabet. Mmmonkey glands. Murder! Mars begins with M. Mars Bars are tasty. But not right now, eating is upsetting the stomach. M begins with Mycroft. So does Mycroft begins with M thing. Who names their child Mycroft?

Mycroft Holmes. Will he come to the wedding? I hope so, he's a funny bloke. Imagine him in a tuxedo, dancing. Who would he dance with? He would be over by the cake, eating it alone. Imagine him eating it all in one bite. Hah, that would be a sight to see. Greg would be drinking alone, he didn't RSVP with any plus one's. They could dance together. That would be nice. Sherlock and I drank last night. Mouth is dry… Mmmmouth… Mouth starts with M. Sherlock has a mouth. It's right there.

I know how to dance, Sherlock taught me. Hudderson caught us one time, it was quite a sight. No wonder she thinks we're a couple. Thought we were a couple. Thinks? Thought? Thinks. Well, she did catch us sleeping together last night. On the stairs, we fell asleep. Together. Like right now. Sleep would be nice right now. Sherlock is lucky. I should call him Sherluck. Msrs, Missususus, Misterus, Masters, Mrs. Hunnndson is a sweet old woman… I hope she comes to the wedding. Oh, she is. She said she would wear a good hat.

Sherlock… Sherluck was funny. He had his name on his forehead paper and was guessing things about himself and he thought he was me… He thinks I'm nice sometimes nice and hey I do not rub people the wrong way. John Watson is a good man. John is… John is me! I'm a pretty lady. Who was I? I was Madonna. Madonna begins with M. John is Madonna. John, John, John. John sounds like yawn. Jawn. Yawn. Sleep.

"John."

John… John is me! John Hamish Watson. What if I changed my middle name to something? Like Henry or Harold or Sebastian or… Raffles. What if I gave myself a strange name? Like Mycroft or Sherlock or Lestrade. Oh, Lestrade is a last name. John Sherlock Watson. Hah, funny. I'd like Sherlock in me. His name in me. His name as a thing in my name. That. Well, this that and the other thing. I hope their parents come to the wedding. I'd like to meet them properly. John is such a boring name. John… Jonathan. John… Jerry, Juan, Jeffrey. What's my name again? Too many Js.

"John…"

Yes, it's John. Thanks for that, Sherlock. Glad you're here to help.

"John…"

That's not me saying my name. Is it?

John opened his eyes, coming back into full consciousness again.

"John." Sherlock whispered in his sleep.

John stared at Sherlock. '_Is he saying my name? Why?'_

A pained expression came about Sherlock's features. His lips curled into a frown and his eyebrows knit together. "Don leamme… Don't leave me."

Why was he saying not to leave him?

Sherlock's hold on John's hand tightened and he pulled it closer to his face. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his hand. He watched in silence, listening.

"John, no…" Sherlock's voice cracked slightly. "Mmm… Alone. No. Too much."

"Hey, hey. Sherlock…" John whispered, "I'm not going to leave you." John adjusted himself so he was closer to Sherlock and put an arm between Sherlock's head and the wall.

"Yes… Logical."

"No, no, Sherlock. It can't happen. It won't."

Sherlock's distressed expressions turned a shade of pink and Sherlock began to shake slightly. He let out a small whimper. "John…"

"Sherlock, are you crying? Please don't be crying. I'm here. I'll always be here." John rested his head right next to Sherlock's, their foreheads touching, and John began to rub small circles on Sherlock's upper back.

Sherlock's shaking ended, thankfully, and his features calmed. His breathing slowed again, and after a few minutes, his eyes opened and immediately shut tight, trying to block out the light.

"John." He said, his voice raspy.

"Yes?"

"Do you promise?"

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Promise what?

"Promise not to leave me."

John thought for a moment. And in that moment, he thought about everything. He thought about the war, he thought about Mike Stanford, he thought about meeting Sherlock. He thought about their cases, both solved and unsolved. He thought about the Fall, he thought about thinking of Falling, himself. He thought of Mary. He loved Mary. He loves Mary. Mary loves him. He's getting married. Marriage changes people, you know. Mary loves him. He's getting married. Marriage changes people, you know. But it won't change him. It can't. No matter what, Sherlock will be a part of his life. A big part. He briefly thought about leaving Mary, of calling off the wedding, and going back to solving crimes with Sherlock. He quickly dismissed the thought, put it away to ponder another day, a day that might not come. A life with Sherlock. A life without Sherlock. He's experienced both. He prefers one over the other. He loves Sherlock, Sherlock is his best friend. He loves Sherlock… His best mate. His best man. His best friend. His consulting detective. And he knows that he's Sherlock's best friend, whether he'd admit it or not. His army doctor.

The consulting detective and the army doctor.

Best man.

Best mate.

Best friend.

"I promise, Sherlock." He smiled.

And Sherlock smiled, too.


End file.
